Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [46]
Farl stopped him. "Seriously, El-I've never found such fearlessness and honesty in anyone. To find it in one who also has endurance and dexterity… I've only one regret."
"Which is?" Elminster was blushing furiously.
"You're not a pretty lass."
Elminster replied with a rude noise, and they both chuckled and clambered up the tree that would afford them exit.
"I see only one worry ahead," Farl added. "Hastarl grows rich under the wizards, and thieves are coming in. Gangs. As they grow larger, you and I will have to join or start one of our own to survive. Besides, we'll need more hands than these four if we're to tackle these back room investors."
"And thy worry?"
"Betrayal."
That word hung in somber silence between them as they leapt down from the crumbling wall into a garbage-choked alley, and watched the rats run. Elminster said softly, "I've found something precious in thee, too, Farl."
"A friend prettier than yourself?"
"A friend, aye. Loyalty, and trust, too-more precious by far than all the gold we've taken together."
"Pretty speech. I've remembered another regret, too," Farl added gravely. "I couldn't be there in the room to see Shandathe and old Hannibur waking up and seeing each other!"
They convulsed in shared laughter. "I have noted," Elminster added a few helpless breaths later as they went on down the street, "word of that meeting has not spread across Hastarl."
"A pity, indeed," Farl replied. They threw their arms around each other's shoulders and strode down the slippery cobbles, the conquest of all Hastarl bright ahead of them.
Five
TO CHAIN A MAGE
To chain a mage? Why, the promise of power and knowing secrets ('magic,' if you will), greed, and love-the things that chain all men… and some of the more foolish women, too.
Athaeal of Evermeet
Musings Of A Witch-Queen In Exile
Year of the Black Flame
The smell wafting up through the high windows was wonderful. In spite of himself, Elminster's stomach growled. He clung to the stone sill, frozen in an awkward head-down pose, and hoped no one would hear.
The feast below was a merry one; glass tinkled and men laughed, short barks of merriment punctuating the general murmur of jests and earnest talk. He was still too distant to hear what was being said. El finished the knot and tugged on it; firm. Aye, then, into the hands of the gods…
He waited for a burst of laughter and, when it came, slid down the thin cord to the balcony below. For the entire journey he was clearly visible to anyone at the board below who bothered to look up; he was sweating hard as his boots touched the balcony floor, and he could sink thankfully down into a sitting position behind the parapet, completely concealed from those at table. No outcry came. After a moment, he relaxed enough to peer carefully around. The balcony was dark and disused; he tried not to stir up dust that might force a sneeze or leave betraying marks behind.
Elminster then bent his attention to the chatter below-and within a few words was sitting frozen in fear and rising excitement. His hand went unbidden to his breast, where the Lion Sword was hidden.
"I've heard some sly whispers, Havilyn, that you doubt our powers," a cold and proud voice said, words falling into a sudden, tense silence, "that we are meant to scare the common folk into obedience to the Stag Throne and are not real wizards, daring to set foot outside our realm… that our spells may be showy, but would avail little against thieves and the night-work of competitors, leaving our shared investments unprotected."
"I've said no such thing."
"Perhaps not, but your tone now tells me that you believe it. Nay, put your blade away. I intend no harm to you this night. 'Twould be churlish to strike down a man in his own house-and the act of a fool to destroy a good ally and wealthy supporter. All I'd like you to do is watch a little demonstration."
"What sort of magic do you plan to spin, Hawklyn?" Havilyn's tone was wary.